


Of Jobs & Roles We Play

by deedeejadexo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Trailer, Brotherly Bonding, Family Feels, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Funny, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Other, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13294548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeejadexo/pseuds/deedeejadexo
Summary: The Avengers find out on a boring, average early afternoon during summer vacation that Peter Parker's new part time job is to take photographs of Spider-Man and sell them to the newspaper company, the Bugle.Understandably embarrassed, he'd rather not have to have this humiliating conversation. But his team have other ideas...





	1. Just Another Day At The Office

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how long this'll be and if it'll drag out at all... Haha. Just had an idea and went with it. :) Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Lots of characters and personalities, which I am new to, so I appreciate your patience and any kind words and/or advice.

“What’s all this, Tonka-toy?” Clint Barton quirked as he entered the communal viewing room in a casual stride, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, covered by a leather jacket, carrying a ham salad sandwich partially eaten in his hand, the slightest dark staining and pre-slight swelling of a tell-tale black eye under his right socket, the only evidence to the naked eye on view of his obviously all but peaceful assignment this morning tracking and apprehending forgotten and lost Hydra/Shield agents.

Noon had hit with the hot midday summer sun, the hustle and bustle inside the Avengers facility on every levelled floor seemingly endless around such a secluded area. Since the Avengers had relocated to upstate New York, they seemed, if anything, busier than they were previously.

Assignments and missions, however exciting—that is, if your name was Steve Rogers or you were a government mandated assassin, _cough_ , Clint, Natasha, _cough_ —or not very at all as in Tony’s case, despite proving and knowing to be an asset to the troop, was currently of more use down on the ground building weapon-like protective gear and combat devices for the team. Enhancing in some cases, what he’d already built and constructed and adding to the stock in storage.

Clint quirked a brow at his intended target when he received only silence for his jibe, shoved his free hand into his front jean pocket and continued eating his lunch, watching a few steps away as the genius man worked over various instruments and apparatus. Ranging from clothing, high tech scattered expensive material, to the dark tips of bows and flexible archers’ strings, to titanium alloy clad thrusters and delicate web designs.

It seemed very strewn and clustered to the spy as he took it all in. Slightly messy and unorganised. Not what you’d usually expect when you walked into one of Starks labs or workshops. But then, this wasn’t one of the man’s labs or workshops. It was essentially the teams living room, for all intents and purposes.

Be that as it may, Tony Stark was currently concentrating. Absorbed in his work. Seemed to pay the fact that maybe he shouldn’t be here in this room doing this sort of work no mind at all. He wore plastic glasses over his eyes for protection, focused quietly on the intricate and delicate finger work in front of him as he currently played about with his suits armoured booted thruster, applying a blow torch to the open flap at the back of its metallic hamstring. 

“You know you do actually have a playground for this sorta thing, right?” Barton commented nonchalantly around a mouthful of ham and lettuce.

Muffled, “Point, Legolas?”

“Well,” Clint looked around them at the room for emphasis and grinned. “This ain’t it, buddy.”

“Funny,” Tony started, poking his head around from behind the suits red armour to smirk at his comrade. “I figured since I built this building and own, pay for and supply everything and everyone in it, it’s all sort of my playground by default.”

“Not the way it works Gadget Boy, and you know it,” Barton replied succinctly with a chortle, throwing himself gracefully down onto the sofa and brushing residual crumbs off himself as he swallowed down the last of his food.

“Shop’s in the shop,” Tony informed as by explanation, sparks flying from his proximity behind metallic hot rod red.

The blonde agent pulled a face at the pun, an odd mix of a frown and trace of derision crossing over his features. 

“Didn’t you just have it renovated and expanded now that we’ve all moved in?” Clint questioned, puzzled.

Tony merely chuckled, “I know, talk about ironic,” too humorously, smile too wide. _Hiding something_ , the archer thought, decidedly.

Clint remained silent, face portraying nothing, waiting for the real answer he knew was coming. But Tony didn’t answer right away, his focus back on his work. He relented with the blow torch for the time being, a few thirty seconds, maybe a minuet, before pulling his plastic visor goggles back and sat back on his haunches, came off his knees and turned back round to face his teammate. 

He paused, about to speak, explain himself and his predicament only to hesitate. He took in the man’s appearance properly from ruffled golden hair, fresh clean casual wear to the bruised eye and pain filled blue eyes. He smirked coy at the corner of his lips, instead reaching for his screw driver and delving back into his boot.

“Didn’t go quietly, I take it?” Stark conversed friendly, changing topic, nodding his indication to his friend’s eye and cheekbone, courteous of a few bad perps as he tinkered with wires and metal flaps and electronics.

“That they did not,” Clint agreed with a laugh, too tired to fight the diversion, smoothing a hand across his aching ribs, feigning ignorance. “What possibly gave it away?”

“Oh, nothing, not at all that morning after smudged eyeliner look you’re sporting so well in _any_ way,” Tony played along, adding a little shrug for good measure. “Your wonderful personality won them over in the end, I’m sure?”

“Couldn’t get them to stop if I tried, literally throwing themselves at me. They kept walking into my arrows, man. It was the strangest thing. Does wonders for the ego, though.”

Stark barked a short laugh, shaking his head. “I bet. Speaking of, how’re the new features treating you? Liking the upgrades?”

“They’re awesome, dude, thanks.”

Tony nodded at the agents’ sincerity. He’d spent hours on end, losing count of the nights lost in his work shop with doctor Banner constructing bio-enhanced sensory readings and finger print recognition to Clint’s arrows and bows so only the highly trained agent could wield and use it properly. He’d come up with the idea a few weeks back when mid battle one afternoon Barton was incapacitated, and the bad guy of the hour had grabbed his equipment only to proceed to use it against the rest of the team. Firing explosive arrows and some set to stun without any let or hindrance. It took a while for Steve to finally get close enough to the guy to stop him, knock him out and retrieve the tech and revive their fallen comrade.

“Dammit,” came the angry whisper from the billionaire, followed by a loud thunk and metal hitting the ground.

Turning to satisfy his curiosity and abandoning any adopted pretences that he wasn’t interested, the archer peaked an eye over the top of the piece of armour. “Need a hand?”

“What, from you?” Tony breathed back incredulously, wiping sweat from his brow and casting a judgemental glance up at his interfering friend. “No offence, Katniss, but what would you know about oxidizer compressors, the thrust capacity of intended high jet propulsion and, in this particular case pertinent to myself, it’s ideal use in atmospheric environments and vacuums?”

Clint froze for a beat to make a show of mulling this over like he knew at all what the Hell Tony had asked him, despite the very known fact Stark knew he didn’t understand a single word of it.

He relented, nonplussed and shrugged his jacket off, moving to situate himself before the suited alloy and its inventor, eyeing up the boot. “Nothing whatsoever,” he confirmed, ignoring Tony’s sarcastic scoff at this and continued, “but you’ve got the worlds steadiest hands at your service right here, my friend, and I’m happy to help a buddy out. Looks like you could need it.” He challenged, smile growing.

Tony watched the man in front of him with growing trepidation. He didn’t have his bots handy to help him, so he supposed that the acrobat would have to do if he wanted this finished today. He gave a small consenting nod but kept a strict profile when he spoke. “Alright, but do exactly as I say…”


	2. Silly Squabbles

“I’m so sorry. I promise, I’ll work to pay for all the damages, any and all replacements and even—” were the first and strained cut off audible words Peter Parker overheard as he approached the slightly ajar communal lounge entrance door.

“I swear to _God_ , Banner, you apologise one more time, I’m calling in Veronica and _I’ll_ be the one to smash _you_.”

“But,” Peter could hear doctor Banner argue timorously with Mr. Stark, stubborn and immensely guilty and sad sounding, “if I hadn’t destroyed your lab like that—”

“ _Our_ lab,” Tony interjected.

“—you wouldn’t be forced to work out here right now in the open, in the communal lounge. It’s hardly the place to do some intense welding, Tony.”

“No argument here,” Agent Barton’s warm and amused voice could be heard, slightly muffled, as though further away from Peter and the door. “Doc makes a very good point. Tin-Man’s been a giant pain in the ass,”

“What else is new?” The voice of Steve Rogers chimed in, sounding pleased.

Peter frowned. Is everyone here? Darn, he wanted to catch Mr. Stark ideally on his own to discuss something personal.

“Cram it, Captain Ice Age. Like you’ve ever been the poster boy for the average American goody-two-shoes.”

Everyone waited a beat, faces far from Peters view on the other side of the door which held mixed looks of sarcastic impatience and amused scepticism. 

Steve made a humble sound and started to reply, but Tony cut him off.

“Hold up there, Spangles, don’t answer that.” He hurriedly corrected himself. “Of _course_ you are, what was I thinking? You could pretty much replace that damn proud bald eagle on all North American citizens passports.”

“Probably will one day, or sit astride it,” Barton barked, sounding closer to Peter now. He over melodramatically and mockingly sniffed the air, “can practically smell the patriotic paper being pressed now, Cap.”

Peter smirked at overhearing this bizarre conversation. Maybe it was true, what Ms. Romanoff once said, that boys will be boys and they never grow up. Repressing the small laugh wanting to escape from within him, he shook his head and reached out for the doors’ handle.

“And you better watch it too, Robin Hood. You’re already on hilariously thin ice for dropping a very expensive, very important, extremely advanced and highly technical piece of engineering equipment.”

“It’s your boot, Three-P-O,” Barton deadpanned. “What you deluding yourself into believing you’ve created this time? Space X rocket?”

“What was it you said to me?” Tony ignored the archer, continuing his tirade, voice raising as he grew more irritated. “Oh yeah, that you wanted to _help_. ‘Worlds steadiest hands’, my—now after your screw up—blow torched, hot and heated ass.”

“That’s an image I won’t be parting with any time soon,” Agent Romanoff’s sarcastic voice commented, however sweetly.

Peter shifted from his right foot to his left behind the entry, palm frozen on the handle. Embarrassment heated his young face as he thought about what brought him here tonight and the question he wanted to ask the Iron Avenger. No way was he going to ask it now, in front of what sounded to be the whole team. Then they’d know what he does part time now, too. And he could only take so much teasing and criticism in one sitting. Tony would have a field day, as it was.

“Not my fault you can’t handle the heat,” Clint joked, voice too now raised, then concluded, softer, “in all seriousness man, when you started melting the metal around the wires, they started running down near my fingers. It was starting to burn, and I dunno about you, but I need my fingers, I’m dependant on them, even. In everyday life and in my profession. What was I meant to do other than drop the damn thing?”

“Uh, I dunno,” Tony shrugged, face set, sardonic, “maybe _not_ drop it?”

“You know what, Shellhead—”

“ _Guys_ ,” Steve prompted sternly, silencing the bickering pair instantly before they grew too loud, or said or did something they’d regret.

Now anxious to announce his presence and feeling like he’d waited too long, without any sight on the scenario, Peter was increasingly growing certain that this is the reason Steve halted their conversation. He must know that he’s standing just behind the door, just out of reach.

Tony had sounded gradually more irritated, Clint also starting to get riled up. A beat of silence passed before Peter heard faint but rapidly approaching footsteps rush towards him and voices begin to speak again.

It was Stark.

“Bruce, hey, no, wait up,”

Peter stepped back from the door in case someone walked through, heart pounding, eyes wide at the thought of being caught eavesdropping and the probability of coming up short on what to say.

“I’m causing arguments. I told you I shouldn’t have moved in here,” was the soft but tense response from the physicist.

The footsteps halted, Peter exhaled his held breath in relief, listening in once more.

“You’re not. And you should’ve, we’re all glad you did,” Steve informed him confidently.

“Yeah, ditto. Me and Stark, we’re just playing around, man. Seriously, you know we do this all the time. Nobody’s arguing for real, big guy.” Clint assured him.

But the scientist protested, pressed. “But the lab, it doesn’t change that I—”

Peter got the distinct impression that Tony rolled his eyes as he interrupted Banner this time. “I told you, no problem, Bruce. Was my fault anyway. I miscalculated when experimenting with the wiring without efficient precautions.”

“Sounds about right,” Peter heard the female super spy mutter in exasperation, now also a lot closer to the door.

“Come to think of it, maybe wasn’t my best idea to date. Point is, if I hadn’t short circuited it, the arrow wouldn’t have exploded in front of us at close range. Jolly Green was only protecting you and himself. And _my_ self for that matter. Good thing too, wouldn’t you agree?”

Whatever response would’ve been forthcoming, unfortunately was not. The ground began to shake, the facilities overhead lights seeming to flicker in rapid, quick fire succession. A loud cracking sound, almost like lightning, could be heard coming from outside. The skies above them rumbled, the clouds gathered briefly, appearing to materialise out of nowhere amidst the sun and clear blue covered sky, growing darker.

A thump of something hard and solid hitting the earth could be faintly heard by the indoor occupants. Peter’s instinctive and enhanced senses were tingling, automatic by now, triggered to alert, his stance growing firm in the unknown and heart still beating wildly. A deathly severe and dauntingly tense silence reined from the room before him and the open door.

That was all until, Stark could be heard biting out a concise and annoyed, “if he’s redecorated the lawn again, I swear, screw maintenance, he can clear it.”

Which was followed by the slick _swoosh_ of a panelled glass door sliding open behind the teenager and a bellowed, deep baritone, “Friends! I come bearing wondrous news! I am back for the foreseeable future!”


	3. Reunited & It Feels So Good

Thor stopped in his hurried tracks when spotting the fifteen-year-old. Dressed in his traditional attire with his Asgardian armour no less than buffed to perfection as usual, his short red cape billowing behind him majestically, the god looked down at the child. His brow crinkled slightly perplexed, with his eyepatch contorting his handsome face only ever so slightly mixing with the shadows around them.

“Young warrior, why do you hide out here?” Thor asked softly, curious, then boomed not unkindly, “are our friends not inside?”

“Um,” Peter started awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck in mortification, not sure where to begin to explain.

“Thor?” Clint’s voice quizzed, “in here, buddy!”

The large door to the lounge opened wide without warning, revealing the rumpled and small, tracksuit and sweater adorning form of Bruce Banner. He looked tired and warn, usual for him after a visit from the Hulk, unwelcomed or otherwise. He quirked a brow and smiled friendly as he regarded the teen before him and then the giant of a man behind him. He stepped back to reveal the rest of the team and allow Peter and Thor to enter past him.

“Pete!” Barton greeted, jumping forward eagerly to knuckle buff the kid’s hair, to which Peter swatted his arm away quickly and ducked from the hawk’s radar.

“Oh, that’s strange, Friday didn’t alert me about a security breach in the facility,” Tony noted vaguely with supressed mirth, he too walking towards them, giant smirk fixed in place.

Thor didn’t bother to hide his exasperated expression toward the engineer as he stepped through the threshold, nodding at Banner and extending his hand for the man to shake when he passed him. Bruce took his large palm with little hesitation, shaking his hand with a wince when Thor’s grip held more strength than he could probably handle right about now.

“Good to see you again, my friend. You look well.” He started, but faltered when he assessed the physicists humorously doubtful expression. “Uh, well, considering,” Thor amended.

Bruce smiled kind-hearted, nodding slightly, “good to see you again,” he agreed.

“Stark,” Thor acknowledged, gold beard parting to reveal his wide smile. His eyes danced around the room, taking in the other Avengers, their relaxed postures and expressions. Some of whom waved to him in hello, others who gave a slight nod in greeting from afar. If he’d noticed the mess of the place, he didn’t show it.

“I’m sorry, are you talking to me? You don’t look familiar, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Thor resisted the urge to smite the man. Instead, he beamed jovially at the group and then fixed Tony with a bemused, yet unamused, mock scornful scowl.

“Hey, can you blame me? Still getting used to no locks, Goldie, no hard feelings. And don’t even get me started on the patch, it’s like Fury’s in the room.” He shivered eerily for added effect.

“Still very annoying, I see,” Thor commented.

Tony wasn’t deterred, shrugging. “That’s what you’re going for, right? Hate to be the bearer of bad news and all,”

“Doubtful,” Natasha quipped in quickly, folding her arms neatly across her chest, amused grin broad, her platinum blonde bangs tucked behind her ears.

“But as _I_ see it, you’ve got the wrong eye, pal. The Fury fan club would be so disappointed.”

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “he doesn’t ever stop, does he?”

“Some would say I’m endearing,”

“Then that would only serve to suggest to say that they do not know you very well, my friend,” Thor hooted.

“Or that they think I’m incredibly charming,” Stark retorted, ever informative, feeling as though he’s spreading vastly considered knowledge. “It’s been said to happen on the rare occasion.”

“Oh, no way, Mr. Stark, it’s definitely the first one,” Peter cringed, chiming in, having got away from Clint and coming over to the small gathered group of adults. 

Tony rounded on him, impressed smirk broadening across his cheeks. “Well look-y here, nice of you to join us, Parker. Now it’s a real party. Tell me, how long were you waiting out there?”

Peter blanched, mortification beginning to cloud him yet again. “You uh, you knew I was out there?”

“Kid, I know about everyone and everything that sets foot in this building,”

“Of course you do,” the kid mumbled, his spirits sinking.

He stepped a sneaker clad foot into the room, pulling the shoulder strap of his backpack tighter as he nervously took in the view and frowned in concern at the state of it.

The normally pristinely clean room was in havoc with spark charred walls and soldered metal dripping from the table tops and sinking into sofa cushions. Fabric and designs for suits galore lay scattered everywhere. Paint and what looked to be expensive robotic machinery flittered about the immediate area.

Peter’s brow creased, he stepped around a few stray tools, past Tony and Thor and entered the large room fully, stopping in position next to Steve.

“Wow,” he started, smirking. “Not sure about the redecorating, looks a little…” He trailed off as his head twisted wholly around and up and down to take it all in, the high ceilings, the long floor and well adorned modern feel. Then at the cluster that didn’t belong. He had a smart mouthed comment at the ready, but then his eyes located the bashful doctor standing in the corner by the open door. And if Peter had to guess, he’d say he looked like he was trying to disappear through the floor, head bowed and stance sadly compliant.

Peter changed tact, now the full attention of the room on him. He could feel that tell-tale embarrassment sweeping through him again as he was brought back to why he was here today. He looked only to Stark, trying his best to pretend the others weren’t here.

“So, yeah, your uh, the door was open a-and I… I just thought… I-I wanted to…”

“You can drop by whenever, Peter, you know you’re always welcome here. Mi casa, es su casa, and all that.” Tony said with a forlorn and bored wave of his hand.

The kid was beginning to wring his own hands, debating how to tackle this, looking increasingly uncomfortable. Stark’s eyes narrowed slightly. He could count on one hand the amount of times the teenager stuttered and rambled uncomfortably in his presence. And it was usually when he’d done something wrong, and/or had been caught and knew that he’d be angry. This time was no different.

Tony prayed it wasn’t as bad as he was thinking. Couldn’t be anything too bad, logically, as nothing was hitting the news, that he’d heard anyway. No torn in half ferries, he hadn’t been alerted that any of the kids suits schematics had been disrupted or damaged. And with a carefully quick, subtle once over with his eyes, the kid seemed to be in one piece. So then, what?

“No, it’s not that. I mean, thank you, Mr. Stark, I know. And it’s nice to be welcome here. I just… There’s something I wanted… to, well, ask you.”

Tony’s brow rose, worries being put at ease with this confirmation that the teen was alright and sauntered forwards, wiping the residual oil off his greasy hand across the abdomen of his faded graphic rock t-shirt he wore before planting it square on Peter’s backpack covered strapped shoulder.

His tone suggested his playful happy mood, whilst his words, deep down, showed his commitment and generosity to those he cared for that often was over looked. “Well ask away, young Buck. Otherwise thou shalt not receive,”

Steve rolled his eyes at Tony’s theatrics, stepping back to put a jug of ice cold blended tropical juice back into the fridge having poured several glasses for the new comers.

He observed as Peter fidgeted under the engineer’s gaze and busied himself with walking the distance to Thor and handing him the beverage with a curt nod and receiving one in thanks.

Silence reigned around them all, the hum and buzz of the workers outside the communal lounge now growing more audible as they went about their business.

Still, Peter had yet to speak, mouth opening a few times but no sound coming out. Tony watched him expectantly.

Clint, having also watched this unfold, caught Natasha’s eye, who nodded her agreement, catching with ease what her friend was trying to portray and ask. The young man was obviously ill at ease. Maybe what he wanted to say wasn’t meant for any of their ears other than the man’s stood before him, knowing how close the two had become over the last year.

Barton mentally shrugged, that was fair enough. Taking pity on the teen, he scratched his head and pretended to ponder, asking aloud, loud enough for everyone to hear, “you still at school, kid?”

Thankful for the interruption, Peter simultaneously turned to face the archer and felt Tony’s arm drop from his shoulder as he too turned to face him. “Yeah, about to start eleventh grade.”

Barton nodded, seeming enthralled and took a couple of steps forward. “Nice. My son’s about to start high school. Lotta work though, I bet. Am I right?”

Peter nodded emphatically, “Yeah, like you wouldn’t believe. Between all the summer vacation projects and essays I’ve got to do, trying to maintain a decent social life with my friends and now with my new job, I’m surprised I can find the time to come _here_ at all.”

“I hear that!” Clint laughed, holding his hand up for a high five, the resounding slap echoing around the room when Peter jumped up to meet it, large smile unrestrained.

“That’s great, Peter.” Steve commended.

All eyes rounded on the Captain. The soldier elaborated, “it’s good you’re putting your education first. That’s a very smart and admirable thing to do. Especially amongst all the chaos and confusion that’s going on around the world lately. You’re a great example to your generation. Take pride in that.”

Tony groaned painfully, big brown eyes rolling melodramatically as his face portrayed his make-believe agony. “Lay off the star-spangled speech, Capsicle. Don’t sweat any of it, Pete. A high school education isn’t the be all and end all.” He proclaimed with a derisive snort.

Barton barked incredulously, smirking as he did so. “Says the walking, talking, genius who doesn’t need one. How long were _you_ at high school? Six months? —a year, tops?”

“Didn’t go,” Tony shrugged, smug ridicule and slight arrogance flowing off him effortlessly in waves. “Got into MIT when I was fifteen instead.”

Bruce chuckled a little at their friends’ egotistical nature and Steve hastily interrupted before Clint could serve any witty and most likely rude, response or rounded on the only other genius present. “I only meant that it’s great to have you around, we all enjoy having you here. But we understand you have other commitments involving your future. And rightly so, that should take precedence.”

Tony quickly jumped in again, mind one way tracked, evaluating what he’d just heard. “Yeah, speaking of… what’s this new job you were talking about that’s taking so much of your valuable time these days?”

Peter paled immediately, feigning unawareness, glancing from inquisitive and curious face to the next. “Uh, what?” he laughed, bashful smile back in place, his cheeks tinged a crimson pale pink as he stuttered out, “I-I uh, didn’t say anything about any new job.”

Tony smirked wickedly, like a newly born kitten cornering a mouse, or a Cheshire cat drawn to its cream, noticing the boys’ embarrassment and placing a contemplative index finger to his chin as he tutted. “Nope, you definitely mentioned you have a job.” He stole a few glances to his friends beside him, looking for confirmation.

Bruce caught on instantaneously, smiling at the engineer subtly and turning back to the fifteen-year-old, acquiescing with a grimace, “you certainly mentioned something along those lines.”

Clint snorted good naturedly whilst Natasha rolled her eyes at the guys playful teasing, Steve ignoring it all together.

Thor however, ever missing the point chirped pleasantly, joining the bombardment, his voice gravitating attention yet kind with curiosity. “Yes, what is this new role you play, wall climber?”


	4. Discussion Or Dispute?

“It’s nothing,” Peter bashfully alluded, shaking his head, his expression forlorn.

“Then you won’t mind sharing it with the class,” Tony retorted quickly in return. The man smiled kindly, swallowing down a swig from his glass of juice.

The teenager exhaled a resigned snuffle after a beat of uninterrupted silence and receiving only expectant glances. “Ok,” he breathed, “but you have to promise you won’t make fun of me.”

Tony scoffed an incredulously quick, “What is this, preschool?” at the same time Steve countered the young man with a sombre and solemn, “Would we do that?”

Peter looked from the honest face of the captain to the similar appearing, only more curious looking, faces of the rest of the Avengers. He then stole a fleeting glimpse of the engineer, frowned, and looked back to Steve doubtfully, small quirked smirk growing across his lips. “ _You_ guys wouldn’t. _He_ would.”

“Scouts honour,” Stark rebutted, holding his three fingers up in a mock of boy scouts salute.

Peter shook his head in amusement at the antic. He bit his lip nervously before thinking _to hell with it_ and after dropping his gaze, wringing his hands together and pulling on the cuff of his shirt, he blurted out, “I got a job as a photographer. I take pictures of the city and… Well, other stuff.”

The student waited for the laughter, the ridicule and the jokes to begin. But they didn’t come. He looked up only to absorb and take in the many engaged, nonplussed nods and smiles being sent his way, relief flowing through his small frame at the received reception of this news. He smiled his thanks when Clint gave him a thumbs up and cheered, “nice, good gig, man.”

“Is it part time work over the summer or something more stable like contractual?” The small yet caring voice of doctor Banner inquired from behind Thor, stepping forward and seemingly coming out of his shell again now the attention isn’t focussed on him and his unintentional destruction.

“Oh, uh, well, it’s freelance, mostly. Nothing set in stone.” Peter informed, diverting his attention and distributing it equally amongst the many faces around him.

Natasha nodded thoughtfully. She tilted her head curiously, blinked, and with a careful smile she probed sweetly, “that’s cool, Peter. I quite like my share of photography, too. Who’s the new employer? Maybe I could share some info on them if I have any, depending on who it is?”

Peter beamed appreciatively and shared immediately, “it’s with the Bugle,”

Thor frowned at this piece of data, as did the others. In his peripheral vision, Peter noticed that Tony had remained suspiciously silent during his reveal, but he didn’t look phased about the mention of his new employer.

“It is a Midgardian newspaper company, yes?” The Norse God asked aloud, his expression slightly grim, tone displeased as he shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

“Yeah…?” The teen reacted in query, looking to the others for explanation.

Steve stepped forward, his small smile fixed in place as he clarified and elucidated what they were all thinking. “I take it you’re not much into reading Newspapers, Peter, what with technology these days?”

He obtained a small shrug from the boy in response, and a dramatic eye roll from Stark who had meandered closer.

“The Bugle have a history of, shall we say, _stretching_ the truth,” Natasha informed dutifully.

“More like, completely fabricating entire events,” Tony partook, shrugging his disinterest into the conversation.

Steve’s face twitched in slight annoyance at the interruption but quickly he took the reigns back and steered the conversation back to his point.

“What we’re saying is that sometimes – and as is the newspapers rights to inform the public about everything that happens and approach every avenue, I suppose – they allude to us not always being in the right after we’ve been out in the field.”

At Peter’s lost guise and response at the news, Clint further elaborated, “the Daily Bugle sometimes, well, most of the time, is not in favour of us and what we do.”

“Haven’t seen what it has to say lately about the arrival of Spidey, have you?” Tony mused, seeming to be the only one deriving humour from the situation, loving the irony of the situation.

Peter gulped as his head reeled. His short relief morphed into a small lead lump which fell and dropped down into his stomach. He looked to Stark to make things ok, make things make sense.

“They…” he trailed off, hurt and annoyance twisting in gut when he thought about the implications of what his new job would entail. What he’d come to ask for. “This sucks, this is the worst job ever.” He stated, thinking afterwards.

“Well, as first jobs go, least you’re getting paid to sell your photos of the big apple to a company that’ll plaster them all over their newspapers. Way to get your name and rep around for a small time photographer.” Barton grinned, shrugging and shoving Peter playfully.

Peter paled, jerking back to the present with the little shove. He shook his head rapidly, pulling his backpack higher over his shoulder.

“No, that’s just it!” he cried, protesting feebly, grabbing everyone’s undivided attention.

“They don’t want me to take pictures of the big apple, or anything to do with the city or the landscape,”

“Then, what?” Natasha voiced in.

“They want pictures of Spider-Man!”

A beat passed in silence.

Peter didn’t think he could be any more mortified. But glancing around at the shocked and surprised faces, he realised he could. And that he did. He hid his head behind his hands, embarrassment colouring his young cheeks, heating his face.

“Well, that’s…” Steve started gently, wincing ever so slightly, wondering where and how to continue.

Tony quipped before the captain had a chance to finish. “Amazing? The best thing to ever happen?”

“Tony,” Bruce reprimanded, folding his one hand over the other in front of his body, subtly shaking his head in disapproval when his lab partner glanced over at him at the calling of his name.

But the man was not to be deterred. He smirked and stepped forwards towards the youngest hero, pointing at him joyfully.

“You’re got yourself a little job taking pictures of _yourself_ and selling them to a company that famously, or, _in_ famously hates us? C’mon,” Stark grinned, giving Thor a slight tap in the mid abdominals as he stepped by him, dislodging the demi gods wayward confused frown and being rewarded with an amused little smile. “I mean, that’s hilarious. The irony is uncanny. You can’t make this stuff up.”

At the many other displeased faces that graced him, Tony watched Peter drop his hands from his face, revealing his crestfallen features and big shining eyes. He stole a glance around the room at the Avengers, his comrades, curious when nobody so much as laughed along with him. “Am I the only one who sees it?”

Barton hid his growing grin behind his arms, turning towards the window and feigning a stretch whilst Natasha ducked her head and made an effort to grab Peter’s eye.

“Pete?” She tried.

The teenager resignedly cocked his head to the side, raised his frustrated gaze and settled it on the newly converted blonde.

“A job’s a job.” She stated confidently, sharing with him a small but satisfied and delighted smile.

“When I was your age… Well,” she shook her head, deciding on maybe not sharing that part of her life. Some things are best left buried. “I wish I could’ve got myself a job like yours.”

Steve nodded, neatly folding his arms across his broad chest, agrees, “She’s right. As first jobs go, there’s a lot worse. Ironic or not, you’ve worked hard to get yourself that position, and we’re all sure you’ll succeed and do us all proud. You have heart, kid.”

“Everybody starts somewhere.” Clint followed, shrugging concedingly, hands now back in his front jean pockets.

Peter perked up a little at the change of tone, the praise and genuine happiness for him.

Clint was quick to clarify, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not gonna go out of my way to buy one of the crappy lying papers of anything,”

As the teens face began to fall, agent Barton acquiesced with a miniscule nod, “but, I guess, if one happens to catch my eye, purely by the potential amazing aerial shots of my man Spidey, I may be persuaded to have a better look.” 

Tony rolled his eyes, swigging the rest of his drink as a large grin spread over the child’s cheeks and his small frame seemed to come alive once more with the kind reception.

Thor’s brow lowered, his voice loud and amplified as he pondered aloud, “I don’t understand. It is now a good thing for our young friend to work for this company?”

Steve nodded, still smiling at Peter, watching him talk amicably and happily with Clint and Natasha, excitedly dragging them off to one side of the room.

“It looks that way.”

Stark approached the pair, now hands free, charred casual clothes filling the air around them instantly with a burning and smoky smell. His face was drawn contemplatively, set in thought, he too watching the boy, Bruce following behind dutifully.

“I don’t like it.” The engineer stated for their ears only.

Steve didn’t hesitate, blue steel eyes not wavering from the two assassins and the skilled gymnast as he flatly declared, “You don’t have to.”

Tony turned to Steve at the frosty undertone underlying the man’s words, his eyes dropping to a slight squint of frustration when he walked away from them and left the room. Thing’s were still not right between them, it was true. They got along fine within the group and happily bantered. But personally, when in close quarters of each other and fewer people, tensions were still slightly strung.

Bruce chirped in, voicing his own opinion, watching the exchange, or lack thereof, between his two friends. “Steve’s right. It isn’t ideal, but Peter seems happy and it’s his decision. It’s good money for a kid his age. It’s not like he writes anything about any of us or bad mouths himself. They don’t know the truth. To them, he’s just taking pictures.”

“No,” Tony countered, argument ready on the tip of his tongue, “he’s just prostituting himself and what he can do to a profitable establishment that’ll use him only to fit their needs and shit on him from a great height and shred his confidence when the kid reads the paper and sees what they’ve said about him.”

“Well, not about _him_ , per se. About Spider-Man,” Banner corrected after a second of deliberation and care, noting a distinction.

“Same person.” Tony stated pointedly and immediately, with a single shake of his head. Purposely he let his dark eyes slide from the teenager and over to his smaller friend, his glance meaningful, telling of something deeper.

Bruce nodded once when understanding finally dawned before breaking eye contact with the other genius. With a small yawn, he quickly made a gesture of farewell to the two men in front of him and decided now to make his exit back to his room for a much-needed rest.

“I’ve only just arrived,” Thor protested jovially, voice turning triumphant. “We are to celebrate our togetherness once again with drinks and much food, no? Not dissimilar after battle!”

Clint could be heard shouting his agreement and excitement to this idea behind them, not far away.

The scientist however, smiled his apology, his body aching and protesting at that concept. “Maybe another time, Thor. I’m sorry.” He turned to make his way out of the room.

Thor looked to Tony, seeking explanation in his bewilderment.

Tony simply shrugged playfully. “You know how he gets after Jolly Green’s been,”

“I heard that!” Banner scoffed haughtily, looking back over his shoulder as he crept out of the door before he rounded from view.

Thor nodded with familiar knowledge and memory. He shrugged, then turned around and distinctly made his way over to the remainder of the group.

Tony acknowledged a trivial grin as he took in the sight, warming his bruised and lonely heart before he too turned to make his way out of the room, frowning in distaste as his eyes caught the windows reflection and roamed up and down over his body at his soot covered self.

Peter happened to glance up at this moment and rapidly broke away from the older chatting Avengers when Thor reached them, taking the distraction to follow his mentor.

He chased him out of the door, breaking into a jog when he couldn’t immediately see him.

“Mr. Stark!” He proclaimed softly, with no response. “Mr. Stark!” He tried a bit louder, crashing to an abrupt halt when he rounded a corner and all but ran into the man.

“Heard ya the first time, kid,” Stark smirked down at him, standing casually and almost bored looking.

Peter rested a palm over his chest, eyes wide with scathing shock, catching his breath. “What… Where are you going?” He asked, entirely thrown off his purpose and completely distracted.

Tony gave the kid his, what Peter liked to call, ‘mothering, are you insane, I taught you better than that’ look and blinked a little owlishly, tone obvious. “To change. If you hadn’t noticed, Spider-Boy Wonder, I’m a little on the well-done side.” He gestured down at his appearance with the flat of his palms. “Honestly, and I had high hopes of you becoming a prodigy in your chosen field like me.”

He twisted from the conversation before the boy could respond physically or verbally and made a move to continue down the hall.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Peter threw out, words rushed in his nervousness.

“Already did,” Stark quipped on an about face, lips twitching.

“No, about my new job.”

His brown eyes found that of the child’s, curiosity raising his brow, poker face long forgotten.

Going against his better judgement and received advice, the engineer gestured for the kid to follow him. “Great, because as it happens, I have a pop quiz of my own…”


	5. Gotta Stay Current

Peter dutifully followed behind the older man, his footsteps hurried in his effort to keep up with those of the confident strides of Starks.

He wondered apprehensively as they paced, what the man could possibly want to ask him.

Coming up blank and only serving to make himself more anxious when he knew he needn’t be, he pulled the strap of his backpack higher over his shoulder and focused instead on trying not to trip over his worn sneakers.

And in what seemed to Peter to be thirty minutes but in reality was probably merely three, they were up a few flights of stairs and at Tony’s door to his private suite. With a casual wave over a monitor beside it, the door swung open.

Stark stepped over the threshold immediately, the lights overhead filling the room warmly and heading straight through a vast communal area towards another door on the far side of the room to the right.

Peter still stood in the door way, mouth a little agape. He’d expected, to be blunt, a bedroom not too dissimilar to his own. Just a room with a bed. Not an unabridged entire floor of living space and homely luxurious decor with several doors leading to undoubtedly more rooms.

His room was nice, oh, absolutely. Don’t get him wrong, it was bigger and better and filled with expensive things he’d never experienced before in all his young life. And frankly, he was too afraid to even touch or go near half of it in fear it would cost him a life time to replace it, not that Stark would mind if anything was broken, he knew now very well.

But whenever he stayed here, he felt as though he was in a hotel. Which, if you’d asked him a year or so ago before his life had completely changed, he’d probably have thought he’d thoroughly enjoy it. But now it all just felt too much to him, too undeserved. He’s just a little guy, ordinary Peter Parker, just happening to look out for other little guys. He couldn’t _not_ really, with what he was able to do after what had happened to him. And that’s all there was to it. He quite liked things the way they were.

But in this place, he supposes Tony has more money than he knows what to do with sometimes. And he is quite the philanthropist. It isn’t much of a surprise that he’d go all out and treat his friends, his family, with the best of the best and whatever they’d want for their own personal space. In his own room across the building, the bed alone must be worth hundreds, going by how extravagant and large it was, soft mattress and sheets not included.

“Spider webbed your own feet to the floor, I take it? Gotta say, you hit home with that there, Peter, stuff’s better than manufactured glue. Doubt even I could break it.”

“Huh?” Peter blinked, startled slightly and eyes homing in on the figure far across the room. Tony had reappeared in the opposite door, wet washcloth in hand as he wiped it over his face, scrubbing the soot, ash and oil off his face. Steam began to rise high behind him, the sound of running water, a shower, he alluded, reaching his ears.

“You coming inside kid, or what?” Tony prompted in mock exasperation, grabbing the remote on the counter to his right and turning to face the widespread many windows. Pressing a button, the windows dimmed a little and a holographic screen seemingly to Peter materialised out of nowhere, the news the default channel that began to play quietly in the background.

Peter stepped inside then, taking stock more clearly of the large existing room, his voice excited and marginally in awe.

“Wow. _This_ is your room?”

“No,” Tony deadpanned dully, pulling a face, somewhere between slightly affronted, obvious and amused. “This is the living room. My room’s through there,” he gestured with a thumbs up behind him through the door in which he’d just come through, Peter twisting and inclining his head to get a peak. Tony stepped into his line of vision, smugly satisfied by the boy’s admiration and amazement. “Just so happens its off limits to itsy bitsy spiders, too.”

Peter’s brow raised, smile widening in acknowledgement of the playful reference.

Stark continued as an after though, appearing to have given it a bit more thought. “Just about anyone or anything that isn’t Pepper or myself, actually.”

“Got it,” Peter voiced confidently, receiving the message loud and clear, shuffling his hands into his jackets warm pockets.

“So, it _is_ easy to understand?” the billionaire quizzed, genuinely sounding perplexed as he made his way over, throwing the remote down on the couch.

Peter frowned, smile faltering and not following, meeting the man halfway to the middle of the room, in front of the tv to the side of them.

“Now all I gotta do is try and get Vision to get the same message,” he stroked his beard, the end of his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I should just put up a few signs…”

“TMI Mr. Stark!” The teen scoffed behind a hidden laugh, shaking his palms out in front of him as he finally connected the dots, the mental images simultaneously making him want to laugh and hurl.

“’TMI’?” The genius repeated instantly, eyes watchful, curious.

Peter’s grin broadened, reaching its full potential as a smirk.

“Too much information,” he elaborated, doing his utmost at keeping the joy and patronising tone from entering his words.

Tony rolled his eyes and waved the kid away, turning to walk back the way he’d come. “I knew that.” He stated.

Peter opened his mouth to retort, grin still wide, but his words fell short as the engineer broke back in sufficiently with rapid fire speed. “Yeah, yeah, I know, gotta stay current,” all the while muttering under his breath, “kids got an act for making me feel old. _Me_.”

“What do I have to do to get digs like this?”

Tony scoffed good naturedly, turned back round, noting the kid had now made himself at home on his plump and comfy couch cushions, his big round eyes on the screen which was playing some new sci-fy movie he himself hadn’t yet seen. “Start paying rent around here, then we’ll talk.” But damn him, if the sight of this kid laughing, lounging around both happy and safe right now, coupled with the idea of him sticking around more permanently didn’t warm his heart just a that little darn bit.

Must be Pepper. Peppers fault. The beginning of all this talk of marriage and the potential possibility of kids one day. Yep, that must be it.

Shaking away the cobwebs, no pun intended, Tony was reminded of why the teenager was here in the first place, safe and sound, happy and content.

“Hey, Peter, real quick, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

The smile shrunk from his young face. He steeled himself as he turned apprehensively to the engineer. “Uh, well, it can wait.”

Tony simply shrugged, appearing nonplussed, inwardly growing a little concerned at so many diversions, “Doesn’t have to,”

“What about your shower?”

“Friday?”

Without missing a beat, the water in the shower turns off.

Stark smiles his thanks, throws the dirty washcloth on the counter, jumps over the back of the couch to sit beside his young protégé, a few seats over and leans forward, elbows on his knees as he waits patiently.

Peter sighs a little, lowers the volume on the tv more so and hesitates only slightly before turning his embarrassed gaze to his mentor, eyes squinting in mortification. “Ok. It’s stupid. You’ll totally think I’m stupid.”

“Hasn’t stopped you from doing stupid things before,” the man quips, easing the tension a little.

Peter doesn’t laugh this time, just simply nods. Tony’s heart clenches a little, he begins to feel his stomach drop with lead. What the hell was he going to ask that has him this nervous? What’d happened? Were things ok at school, at home? Was someone at this job giving him shit? The thought started to turn the lead into simmering anger.

He mentally braced himself when Peter began to speak.

“Do you think maybe, at some point if it’s possible, and of course when you’re not busy Mr. Stark… If Iron Man wouldn’t mind taking a photo with Spider-Man?”

Tony’s brow rose, dark brown eyes widening a touch. That was it? Gees, the kid had him worrying over nothing. Peter just wanted a picture with him? Why though? He knew him. Well. Even fought with him in battle. What purpose would a photograph serve?

He pulled a face, lips drawing into a perplexed frown, now only confused, watching the boy as the second dragged by, Peter waiting anxiously for a response. Tony exhaled on a remanence of a shrug, deciding and supposing he owes the kid at least that, if that’s all he wanted, after everything. And hey, when was he ever known to turn down a fan’s request of a selfie together.

“I can put the suit on now if ya like, or you can throw yours on and stand next to one of these, if that works?” He gestured to the far east corner where the five, half standing mark VIIs stood against the wall behind them, their collective bits of leg and arm, breast plate and face plates scattered in the communal lounge a few floors down and in some cases, burned and scared.

Peter ran a hand through his short dark hair nervously, eyes following the gesture to the many, much and profuse amount of armour that he’d for some reason missed on first entering the room. “No,” he battled with himself, nerves of steel beginning to fault him, “like, as in… In battle, get an action shot, that sorta thing? If that’s ok?”

Stark blinked, his eyes fluttering in comprehension as he took a moment to let this sink in. He rose an inquisitive brow at the young man. “So, what you’re really asking here, is whilst you’re out there looking out for the little guy, beating up perps trying to take off with little bitty grannies’ purses, you want me to swoop in and help just so you can take a picture?”

Peter listened to the absurdity of it all, tried not to cringe and simply nodded his affirmation, humming a little.

“Why.” Stark probed, sounding more like a demanding request that he tell him in some sort of interrogation rather than an unassuming question of interest during a friendly conversation.

Peter gulped, remaining silent, thinking of ways to explain himself that didn’t sound equally absurd as his own request.

Tony didn’t let his reaction or what he thought of this show. Instead he shrugged disinterestedly when he got no reply, no bite. “Purse retrieving for grandmas? Just a little below my paygrade, Squirt.”

He made a move to lift himself up, immediately falling back down and sinking into the cushions when Peter stopped him. He turned his affronted expression towards Peter.

“See, I get better money if I deliver photos with Spider-Man in action. And it got me thinking… I don’t really have the time to set up camera’s when we’re taking on the big stuff—” he thought back to the landing strip at the airport last year in which the big show down happened amongst the Avengers, “it didn’t really work last time when I tried vlogging stuff,”

“Vluh-whoing?” Tony cut in, head whirling, making sense of pieces of slotted information. The picture now finally coming together and making sense. He wanted a picture of the two of them for more money to gain at his new job! Of course. _Wait a minute_ … He started out of his daze, “hold up there, Short Stack. You’ve already tried taking pictures of us?” Tony asked, one brow raised, not very impressed.

“Huh?” Peter blushed, “no, no, of course not.” Quickly he carried on. “My point is, I really think I’d get a lot more money if I caught a picture of Iron Man in the same frame, too. Them working together. What do you think?”

“Kid, I think…” He shook his head, feeling his shoulders tense at the amount of shrugging he’d done today. “If it’s money you need, all you have to do is ask. You don’t need to run around taking pictures of yourself. Or me, for that matter.”

Peter smiled, the first genuine one in fifteen minutes, it seemed. He nodded. “Thanks Mr. Stark, but I’d rather earn it, you know? Do some good deeds. And you know me, I like photography.”

A thought suddenly struck light lightening and occurred to the mechanic. He grinned, bordering on sneered, already making mental notes to put his swift plan into fruition. “That you do. I _have_ noticed.” He thought back to car journeys he’d drag and make Happy take them on, sitting in the back seat taking Peter home and all the while having the kid’s crappy little camera phone shoved in his face, recording. Video blogging— _ah_ , vlogging.

Tony held his hand out towards the teenager, his tone taking on a business style and posture growing straight. “Alright, Mr. Parker, you got yourself a deal.”

Peter’s eyes lit up almost instantly and he eagerly reached forward, gripped the man’s hand, shaking it with a little too much gusto as he babbled graciously. “Really? Thanks so much, Mr. Stark. It means a lot, really.”

Nodding a little uncomfortably and effectively schooling his features, he made a move to stand and this time succeeded. Tony reached for the remote and dropped it in the kids lap, nodding at the holographic screen. “Well, now that we’ve fruitfully put the world to right, for the time being, anyway… I’m gonna go have that shower; I’m starting to lose feeling in my ass. If Barton’s given me third degree burns and nerve damage, I’ll shoot him with one of his own arrows, then nuke him with my thrusters.”

Peter was back to laughing, unabashed and unashamed. Tony glanced over his shoulder at the boy and waited.

“Be thankful I’m not vlogging right now, Mr. Stark. I could make a fortune out of what you just said!”

Rolling his eyes but lips spreading into a beam of his own, Tony ruffled the kid’s hair and threw his dirty washcloth at him. “Hey, pipe down and watch your movie, Pipsqueak! Or,” he faltered, eyes darting around the room before landing on the door. “You can go to your room.”

There was hope for the kid yet. It was true he felt moments of being old around Peter Parker. But he couldn’t deny that he brought some of his maturity and the best out of him, too. Yet in other moments, like now, it was like he was back to being a kid himself, teasing Rhodey and having fun around his large estate left to him by his parents.

Peter mimicked zipping his lips, smile still broad, turning the volume up.

Tony chanced a glance at the screen on his way out when dramatic music sounded, and it was vaguely familiar to him. That, and the _whoosh_ ing sounds. “The Hell are you watching?”

"The Last Jedi,"

Poker face. No response from Stark other than a bemused blink. _Was that even English?_

Peter eagerly elaborated, sensing the confusion, “It's the new Star Wars movie, I saw it with Ned at the movies a couple months back,”

Shaking his head, Stark tutted. “You, Barton and Banner. All of you, nerds. I’m surrounded.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue, but without even looking back, Tony raised his arm and waved him off again, exiting through his bedroom door and leaving sight.

“I know, I know… ‘Gotta stay current!’”


	6. In Doing Good Deeds...

It was a few days later when Peter and Ned stepped off the local bus that had taken them to and from town. They hit the paved side walk, the mid-afternoon hue of the warm sun beginning to verge on setting, the crisp wind breezing through their shirt collars and hair, reminding them acutely that fall was just around the corner, as was the start of a brand-new school term.

They were on their way to Peter’s place, his apartment in Queens which he shared with his aunt, after a long day procrastinating in the mall and spending most of the afternoon in the arcade.

They walked side by side, their destination only a mere block away. The streets around them were semi crowded, littered with passing people, presumably also on their way home after a long day’s work. Summer seasoned flowers stuck out of apartment windows on ledges, glistening in the fading sunshine, steam rising from ventilators towards the roads that’ve seen better days.

Ned babbles in Peter’s ear about something, Peter isn’t sure what, too distracted by the rarity of having peaceful surroundings (well, peaceful for New York, anyway) and being able to relic in the enjoyment of partaking in a casual stroll home with a friend for once.

“…and after we’ve built them all, including rebuilding the model Death Star, we totally have to have another marathon because dude, they need to be cherished and no matter what anyone says, you can never get tired of those movies.”

Peter’s brow raises, he turns his head to the right and glances at his best friend, his left hand slung over the strap of his backpack, holding it and stopping it from jostling too much as they walked.

“What?” Peter asks Ned softly, his tone genuinely curious and a little lost.

“Our epic Star Wars marathon? Duh! What do you think we’ve been talking about the last ten minutes? This is gonna be awesome!” Ned repeats, a little miffed and slightly perturbed that his friend wasn’t keeping up with him, but excited once again at the prospect of binge watching one of his favourite franchises.

Peter nodded, his smile small as he fell into step with the other fifteen-year-old, distracted, thoughts more inclined towards the start of term, soon. “Oh, right,” he responded, voice still lacking full conviction. “Of course! Yeah, awesome!”

The lack of usual and incredible enthusiasm wasn’t lost on Ned. He frowned at his friend, took a bated breath and waited a beat before rolling his eyes and imploring, “is it about Liz?”

“What?” Peter interjected, her name still making his stomach lurch in an uncomfortable flutter of butterflies.

“That has you moping around again,” Ned went on, prompting, “I’m telling you dude, you should’ve told her you’re Spider-Man, then she’d understand and totally have at least kissed you before she left. Not to mention as me being your best friend, thus Spider-Man’s best friend, it’d up my status in popularity, too.”

“Ned, c’mon man, no. I told you, Spider-Man isn’t a party trick.” Peter conceded, still thoroughly believing that and telling himself he’d made the right decision regarding his last crush.

Ned sighed, dejected. “Just think what it’d do to Flash though. Finding out that all these years he’d been being a jerk to an _Avenger_.”

Peter rolled his eyes at his friends’ ponderous tone and awed expression, an amused and happy smirk finding its way back on to his face.

“Yeah, ok, my _Guy in The Chair_.”

The corner of Neds lips cracked a proud and smug smirk, back straightening at the acknowledgement, his participation to his friends’ achievements, _their_ achievements in the face of adversity.

They’d reached their destination, rounding the corner onto the final street. A loud noise startled them both, coming to life from just outside the door to Peters building, giving them pause; a low, loud in both sound and colour, stark red Ferrari sped off and was just about beginning to fade from their view in a matter of seconds, drifting around the following corner with speed and accuracy.

“Whoa.” Ned breathed, obviously impressed.

Peter simply shook his head, grin growing wide. A guy with a car like that should think twice before they drove around the rough suburbs of Queens, let alone parking and leaving a vehicle like that in one. He knew first hand what kind of attention that could attract. And it wasn’t positive. He silently hoped whoever was driving could handle themselves if they met any trouble.

He nudged Ned out of his stupor by pulling on the doors entrance, opening it and gesturing for Ned to walk through first.

They climbed up the stairs rather than taking the elevator, much to Neds contempt, Peter taking them two at a time with ease whilst Ned trailed behind, grunting in exertion and scorn.

Reaching Peters floor, a few floors up, Ned huffed dramatically and gave his friend a searching look, his question easily read through his features. _Why?_

“Exercise, bro,” Peter beamed, bumping Neds shoulder with his fist, acknowledging the sweat breaking out on his brow. “Is good for ya.”

“Yeah,” Ned muttered under his breath, breathing long and deep, his palm burrowing into his abdomen to take the pressure off his budding stitch. “At school maybe, this is supposed to be summer vacation.” He watched his friend pull out his keys, fiddling with them until he located the right one to fit in the apartment door.

Immediately upon opening the door, the smell of some kind of tomato based pasta bake wafted through to their noses, fanning across the room. They made their way over the threshold, Ned closing the door behind them.

At the sound of the door slamming, Aunt May popped her head out from around the corner in the kitchen, round dark doe eyes quickly locating the two boys. A smile broke upon her lips at the sight of them, face soft and kind, before her head disappeared.

“You boys eaten?”

Peter shook his head before realising she couldn’t see them, hastened to reply, “not yet,” simultaneously as his and Neds stomach rumbled loudly.

They made their way across the living space to the small corridor, leading to Peter’s bedroom to drop their things, Peter already shrugging his backpack off his shoulders, but not before a doting voice stopped them.

“Hey, hold up there, mister.”

Peter exaggeratingly rolled his eyes at Ned whilst his friend sniggered and smirked, then proceeded to turn towards his aunt, smiling in endurance as the woman rushed towards him and enveloped him in a tight hug, warm tea-towel slung over her shoulder, her long hair tied up in a messy bun. 

“Haven’t seen you all day!” She proclaimed, letting the child in her grasp go, turning towards Ned, waving in greeting. “Hi Ned, staying for dinner?”

Ned smiled and nodded almost instantly, seeming on his own accord unconsciously. “Yes please, Ms Parker.”

May waved off his polite but her mind, not deserved and needless thanks with a manicured hand, smiling to the both of them, looking back and forth. “So, nice day? Get much studying done?”

“Oh yeah, loads.” Peter nodded, stepping on Neds foot so he’d agree along with him.

To his credit, he nodded once again, not trusting his voice to outright lie to his best friends’ aunt.

“Good,” May replied, still all smiles. Peter smirked internally, feeling only slightly guilty for his white lie. She believes them, hook line and sinker.

A loud beeping sounded and alerted all three of them, steam now emitting from the kitchen. Aunt May spun around, running back into the kitchen in a flurry. She opened the oven and saved the pasta bake from further destruction and damage, quickly opening the kitchen window to alleviate the smoke gathering, then reached for a broom to use it to scope out the smoke alarm, turning it off.

“It’s alright,” she laughed, waving her hand in front of her face, the steam and grey smoke dispersing so she could peer down at the meal she’d prepared. “Still edible, not burnt.” Glancing up at her nephew, she punched the air celebratory. “I call that progress!”

Ned barked a snicker, Peter exhaling a laugh as he watched his aunts’ enthusiasm, happy they were able to eat in for a change.

“I’ll call you when the vegetables are ready, shouldn’t be too long,” she called to their retreating backs, Ned already in his bedroom fiddling with his Lego construction sets, by the sounds of it.

“Oh, and Peter?”

Peter turned once more, back straightening a little at the undertone of frustration he could hear clouding May’s voice this time.

He answered cautiously, hesitantly, “Yeah, Aunt May?”

“I put your clean laundry on your desk for you just before you came in—”

“Thanks,”

“— _And_ ,” she bit in, not unkindly, “I noticed your window was wide open. Did you leave it open all day with the heating on again?”

Flummoxed, not what he was expecting to be asked or told, Peter scrambled for an honest memory and answer. He’s certain and positive he’d closed it, as he left out of his bedroom window earlier to meet Ned in town, clinging to the side of the building as he locked it behind him. “Uhh…”

Sighing, May held one hand to her hip and implored the young man in a tired tone, “Peter, sweetie, I’ve told you, gas and electricity isn’t cheap, ya know?”

“Sorry,” Peter retorted honestly, still at a loss of what to say, but wanting to get back to Ned and their Death Star. He’d have to take a look at his window and the lock and latch, later on, he mentally told himself. “Won’t happen again.”

Aunt May waited a beat, searching his face, then nodded in acquiescence, letting it drop, presumably hearing and seeing what she wanted and smiled gently at him, gesturing with a short nod to his bedroom door behind him. “Go on, then.”

Peter twisted on the balls of his feet and scooped up his bag, pushing open the door and exposing his room to find Ned sat on the floor by his desk, deep in concentration, Lego scattered on the carpet all around them.

“No matter how many times you construct this thing, it’s still awesomely and unbelievably impossible the next time you build it.”

Peter dropped his bag on the chair beside the desk, eyes scanning his room, past the bunk bed at the then of his room and locating the window on the far side. It was closed, the latch unlocked, picked. Peter frowned minutely, eyes narrowing.

“So, what was that about?”

“Huh?”

“Domestic with your aunt,” Ned prompted, encouragingly, focussing on his fiddling hands, the task at hand and what he was attempting to create.

“Was hardly a domestic,” Peter continued for him, “she’s upset I left the window wide open.”

“Oh,” Ned nodded. “Maybe you shouldn’t do that again, then.” He chided humorously, finally meeting his friends eye with a cheeky grin.

Peter scowled at him begrudgingly, stepping over him and the Lego, assembling his way to the glass, eyes minimalizing and focusing on the latch. “Except I didn’t. I left out the window this morning. I made sure I closed and locked it, tight. I even webbed it, tactile strength like, at a hundred so it’d last till I came home.”

Ned gave Peter a quizzical look, judgemental. “You don’t think that’s a bit much? You’re like, on the fifth floor dude, who’s gonna barge their way in from the outside?”

Peter shrugged, turning back to Ned and felt his ears heat at the admission he was about to make, not taking the potential severity of the situation should it ever happen, lightly. “You never know man. After the end of last term, I don’t wanna take any chances. Not with the tech _we’ve_ made, the suits and equipment Mr. Stark gave me that are only over there, stashed in the closet… And not to mention that I’ve got Aunt May to look out for. She’s potentially a vulnerable weakness for the bad guys to exploit, if anybody finds out who I am and where I live...”

Ned nodded, holding up his palms and conceding his point before Peter worked himself up too much. “Alright, in get it. You’re right, not funny.” He made a move to stand, Peter reaching down to grasp his palm and easily lift him to a standing position beside him.

Ned blinked, flat on his feet in a second, still not used to his friends superhuman strength.

“Why was my window wide open? How?” Peter pondered aloud to himself. He made a move to side step Ned, hand outstretched and reaching towards his closet, just to double check nothing had been taken, despite his room looking outwardly more or less how he had left it this morning.

Hell, if his window was broken open, he wasn’t taking any chances.

Ned put a hand on his shoulder suddenly, halting him. Peter’s eyes dropped to his instantaneously, question bated on his lips.

“Might have something to do with that?”

Peter took note that Ned was looking past Peter’s shoulder and towards his bed, behind him. Frown growing over his jaw, hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand, the other teen turned from his friend and followed his gaze to his bunk bed. At this height, straight in his line of vision, a parcelled package could be seen innocently centred atop the covers of the top bunk.

Peter took a step towards the bed, jumping on the frame of the lower bed to peer over the top of the higher bunk.

“Wait!” Ned panicked, adrenaline starting to pump through his own veins. “What if it’s… I dunno, a bomb or something?”

Peter didn’t answer, eyes raking over the parcel. It looked ordinary, square in size and shape, not too big.

His dark eyes were drawn to the note attached to some finely weaved string, that itself attached to the package. In printed plain boring text, the one word small greeting card read, ‘Dearest,’ and underneath that, in calligraphic black ink, written is a scribbled, barely legible, _‘Underoos’_.

Peter snorted back a laugh, smile spreading across his cheeks whilst his heart rate slowed and his own adrenaline dissipated, replaced with excitement. 

He grabbed the parcel with favour and goodwill before jumping back down from the bunk bed. It felt quite light, he took note.

“I think I know who was driving away in that Ferrari,” Peter mused.

“Who?” Ned gasped out on an exhale, attention wrought.

“Looks like we just missed him.”

Ned watched silently as Peter tore the paper from the package, letting it drop to his bedroom floor. His eyes held his many questions and enquiries as he observed him open a pristine white box. Short of losing his control and interrogating his friend, Ned waited with bated breath as Peter struggled to pull something out of it.

With a final pull, Peter drew a large and, now he was holding it, substantially heavy, brand new top of the range Hasselblad camera from the box. It was matte black, shiny, mesmerising and probably the most expensive thing, bar his Spider-Man suit also by extension, gifted from the same man, that Peter had ever had the privilege to touch, hold and have in his possession.

He paled, stuttered. “Is this…” _For me?_ “This can’t be…” _For me?!_

Looking to Ned, he saw only his mirror image, the same shocked and astounded expression returned at him. Gently, his best friend reached out and took the camera from him, clutching it to his chest as he delicately turned it over in his grasp to inspect it, gaze catching something fold at the bottom of the box still in Peter’s hands.

“I think it is,” he confirmed. “There’s another note,” he nodded downwards, “in the box.”

At Neds hasty signal, Peter dropped his head back to the box, eyes greedily locating the second note. He grabbed it swiftly, dropping the box as well to fumble instead with the bit of parchment nervously.

“What’s it say?” He could hear Ned eagerly request from as though far away. Nothing could stop the smile growing on his lips if they tried. And nor could he. For again, in calligraphic black ink, scrawled this time neatly across the piece of paper, read very clearly, pristinely and superbly with no hesitation…

_For documenting ‘good deeds’._

_See you out in the neighbourhood. ___

____

_Be friendly, and I’ll bring the party to you._

____

_T.S_

____


End file.
